


Match Made in Heaven

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Category: Hard Core Logo (1996), The X-Files
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-02-20
Updated: 2001-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:02:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek meets Joe in the not-so-sweet hereafter. (Spot the obsure Canadian movie reference in the summary, win a prize! Really? No, not really... but the reference is there. (With apologies to Dar Williams.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Match Made in Heaven

So there I was. Heaven really wasn't all I'd figured it would be. 'Specially since all the fuckers I thought it'd be cool to hang out with after didn't show up. Sometimes I look over the clouds down... down, and wonder what the hell the nun's at Saint Angus would think of me being here. They definitely had predicted a more southern trek.

So, heaven's fucking boring. Only it's not even fucking. It's just... boring. Especially since Billy's cleaned up his fucking act and went straight... well, as straight as Billy could get, so the guy at the gate's predicting another twenty or so years before he kicks it. I spend at least an hour a day wishing a bus accident on the guy, but he's the most inconsiderate fucker on the planet. 'Specially now since I'm up here.

I light up. Damn hard to find cancer sticks up here, but not impossible. A passing arch-angel passes me and glares, muttering something about clerical errors or some shit. I flick the smoke at him and singe his feathers. I hate the smell.

And I'm still bored. He's getting fitted for his wings. They don't actually make us wear them outside of formal functions, but he's fighting the guy feeling him up for the measurements.

Hell, I'd feel him up, too. He's pissed to be here, but he's rubbing his left arm like no tomorrow. Leather jacket, cigarette smoke, telling the grope guy to fuck off. I'm digging him already.

"You got one of those to spare?" he asks.

I pass him one and light it for him. He looks around the place warily, like Heaven's got nasties lurking in the corner, and it's cute in a bad-ass way. We stand and smoke for a while; holding up the line but what the fuck; they're too polite to ask us to move and it's not like the line's going anywhere.

"So, uh you're dead, huh?" he asks. Stupid question.

"Shot in the head."

The guy nods. "Hurts, don't it?"

I nod. We sit in companionable silence. Billy's not going to be there for a while. "Wanna fuck?" I ask.

He throws his cigarette, singeing grope-guy's wings. "Hell yeah."


End file.
